If We Were Us

by K. L. Walther

  And there we were: Luke and me. You’ve met, my mind nudged me as I soaked in the picture. You’ve met before. We were such little kids, but it was unmistakably, undeniably, even eerily us. I was wearing these navy pants with green alligators embroidered on them, and Luke had on a blue-­and-­white sweater vest and his glasses. We were sitting on the Hoppers’ big red couch, and while I had my arms crossed over my chest and sported my jaw-­aching grin, Luke wasn’t even aware the picture was being taken, because he was asleep with his head on my shoulder. I reached for my phone and went to my camera roll.

  Pretty soon my eyes prickled. Without even knowing it, we’d reenacted this photo a thousand times, and Sage had documented them all: me smiling with Luke passed out against my shoulder. My favorite was from a while ago, Luke and me together on Sage’s chaise. I wasn’t really looking at the camera, instead, grinning down at a dreaming Luke. Our legs were entwined, and he held one of my hands.

  I leaned back against my seat and shut my eyes.

  I really wanted to be holding his hand right now.

  * * *

  Sage hadn’t said anything, but I knew she and Nick would be waiting for me at the station. What time do you get back? she’d texted last night, so when the conductor came over the loudspeaker and announced we were running behind schedule, I sent: Probably going to be a couple of minutes late.

  Sure enough, she replied: Okay!

  I released a deep breath, already picturing them on the platform: hand in hand, with Sage waving and wearing Nick’s Patagonia, and my brother glowing next to her. Hercules, I mused to myself. He’ll look like Hercules.

  Which was good—­I sort of needed them to be there. I needed Sage to smother me in a hug and for Nick to suggest we grab food from Pandora’s. They’d get me to laugh and relax before I went back to Daggett and figured out what to say to Luke. How to tell him about this weekend at home and how sorry I was and show him the picture. Look at that, I would say. That’s us.

  * * *

  The train ended up slowing to a stop ten minutes after it was supposed to, and since it was Sunday morning, there weren’t many people aboard. I shrugged on my backpack and pulled down the hood of Luke’s sweatshirt before standing up and heading toward the front of the car to the exit. “Have a nice day, young man,” the conductor said as I stepped down onto the platform. My pulse quickened when I didn’t see Nick’s hideous Patagonia or Sage’s swinging ponytail. They weren’t waiting for me on the platform or over by the benches. No, I felt like a forgotten child. Where are you?

  But then I felt it—­a hand on my shoulder, right as I heard: “Hey there.”

  I pivoted around to see Luke, in a faded sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms with his UVA baseball hat. Behind his glasses, there were violet half-­moons under his eyes. Sleepy Luke.

  I am in love with him, I thought.

  “Sage texted me at the crack of dawn,” he explained as my heart hammered. “And told me to be here, like some type of sketchy hazing—­”

  I didn’t let him finish. Instead, I hugged him, burying my face in his warm neck and slumping against him. It was the same sort of hug I’d given him back in November, the night we decided to be together, and later, the same sort of hug I gave him after a long day. “A Collapsing Charlie,” Luke had dubbed it, and now I heard myself groan as his arms tightened around me.

  “Me too,” he murmured.

  “I have something for you,” I told him once we broke apart. My fingers fumbled to unzip my backpack, but I somehow pulled out Mom’s photo and handed it to him. Then I held on to his sweatshirt cuff and stayed quiet, letting him look at it.

  “Yes.” Luke glanced up at me after a few seconds, his lips quirking into a kind of bittersweet smile. “I remember that day well.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I asked, voice catching.

  “Didn’t I?” He cocked his head, and suddenly that night in Charlottesville came to mind. Our first crushes. He had said something; I just hadn’t believed it. “But,” he added now, as he took my hand and threaded our fingers together, “there are some things you needed to figure out yourself.”

  Eyes stinging, I nodded. “I know.”

  Luke squeezed my hand.

  I squeezed his back.

  “I’m proud of you, C,” he whispered. “Really fucking proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Looser.” I pointed to my chest. “But still sort of clenched.” I released a deep breath. “You know, about Bexley.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Luke told me. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  I nodded again.

  A few beats, and then: “So, what shall we do now?”

  “Be us,” I said.

  “Well yes, that was implied.” His eyes glinted, and I ached when he laughed. “But I meant should we get breakfast?”

  All I could do was respond with another Collapsing Charlie. “I’m so tired, Luke,” I told him, breathing in his Luke-­ness: peppermint and soap and him. “I really want to take a nap.”

  Because truthfully, I hadn’t slept in ages—­even last night. I’d stared at my ceiling as I listened to unintelligible snippets of Mom and Dad’s conversation down the hall.

  Luke raised an eyebrow. “With me?”

  “Yeah, with you,” I said, smiling. “I’m yours, Luke.”

  “Well, that’s very cool,” he replied. “Because the feeling’s mutual.” He grinned. “You’re mine, C.”

  “And everyone’s gonna know it,” I told him.

  Then I kissed him with everything I had.

  Chapter 38

  Sage

  Three Months Later

  Nicholas Lawrence Carmichael was the first person I saw when the girls and I got to The Meadow, the four of us decked out in variations of the classic white dress. Before the ceremony, it was tradition for all the seniors to gather outside Knowles so we could head over to the grove together. “We’re one long line of overgrown kindergarteners,” was Luke’s assessment during this morning’s 7:00 a.m. rehearsal.

  “Oh my god,” Nina breathed now. “Are they serious?”

  Because Nick was standing underneath one of the nearby maple trees with our valedictorian, and they were playing their “twin card” for all its worth. Yes, most of the guys were matching—­blue blazers, white button-­downs, and striped Bexley School ties—­but the Carmichaels had never looked more identical. They both had on their Wayfarer sunglasses with the most in-­your-­face pair of pants in existence. I smiled, unable to believe they’d actually gone through with it. “They’re Lilly Pulitzer,” Nick explained when he first showed me the electric-­green-­blue-­and-­yellow patchwork pants. “From the eighties. Dad and Uncle Theo wore them to their graduation, so Charlie and I are doing the same. How epic are they?”

  I remembered begging him to model them for me, but he blushed and shook his head. “You gotta be patient, Morgan.”

  “Those two…” Jennie began, right as someone else said, “Good morning, girlfriends.”

  I spun around to see Luke approaching, also looking pretty sharp. We hugged, and then Reese kissed his cheek and left behind a mark from her lipstick.

  “Come on, Reese,” he groaned, doing his best to wipe it off. “My mom’s bad enough.”

  We laughed. “Are your sisters here?” Jennie asked.

  Luke nodded. “Of course. This is my…”

  “Victory lap!” we finished for him.

  He smirked. “Exactly.”

  * * *

  The sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, but it wasn’t beating down on us in the shady grove, every single folding chair filled. Reverend Chambers welcomed everyone, and when he remarked what a “sensational day” it was, I leaned over and whispered to Luke, “He says that every year. Even sophomore
year, when it was overcast and thundering in the distance!”

  Dean Wheaton was next, speaking about our class as a whole, and then he invited Jennie onstage to pass on the torch to next year’s school president. “That guy has one tough act to follow,” Luke said under his breath as we watched Jennie drape the ceremonial cape over her successor’s shoulders.

  After that, it was Headmaster Griswold, still rocking his handlebar moustache, behind the podium. I took a deep breath and reached over to take Luke’s hand.

  Headmaster Griswold introduced my best friend by speaking about Charlie’s many achievements, from his “effervescent” performances, like flying up and down the ice or onstage in a musical, to his “exemplary” transcript. He hadn’t gotten anything less than an A on any assignment ever, and I saw some people roll their eyes at that…and also caught Luke roll his back. You have no idea, I read his mind. You have no idea how hard he works, because he makes everything look so easy.

  When our headmaster started in on Charlie’s “illuminating personality,” I squeezed Luke’s hand and felt a burst of something inside me.

  “He’s amazing,” I whispered.

  “He’s taken,” Luke whispered back.

  “We are all especially grateful for the boundless enthusiasm and myriad talents Charlie has shared with us,” Headmaster Griswold continued, “and I have no doubt he will bring the same joy for life and learning to the University of Virginia next year.” He chuckled. “In fact, I’m not certain they know just what they’re in for…” He cleared his throat. “So it is with much pride and admiration that I congratulate Charlie Carmichael on being selected as this year’s Bexley School valedictorian.”

  The applause was deafening. Half the audience stood, and Luke and I craned our necks to see Charlie make his way up the graduation grandstand. “That’s my boyfriend,” Luke remarked, beaming as Charlie bounded up the steps in that slick way of his.

  “Thank you, Headmaster Griswold, for that kind introduction,” Charlie said once he was behind the podium. “And thank you, parents, families, faculty, and fellow Bexleyans, for granting me the honor to speak to you on this”—­he smiled, and then his quick wit made its first appearance—­“sensational day.”

  All the students laughed, catching the reference, but I got closer and closer to tears as the speech went on. First from laughing too hard, and then from feeling just plain sentimental. Because Charlie had written a thank-­you note to Bexley…or more accurately, multiple thank-­you notes to Bexley, since his speech was based off The Tonight Show, with most of it being his take on the “Thank You Note Friday” bit. Everyone cracked up when he said, “Thank you, Turn-­It-­In, for doing your best to teach me that procrastination is not the best course of action. The ‘Always Crashing Whenever Charlie Tries to Submit an Assignment Three Minutes Before a Deadline’ approach is both effective and cathartic,” and there was another round of laughter when he added, “Thank you, Mrs. Collings and Bexley Campus Safety, for helping me understand what it’s like to be a fugitive from the law. I now feel adequately prepared for when I actually am one.”

  I got goose bumps at that. “But what about your shirt?!” I’d shouted just the other night, as Nick and I ran for our lives, Mrs. Collings and her bloodhound on the pursuit. Nick was shirtless, blue MURDICK’S FUDGE T-­shirt left behind on the sixth hole’s putting green. “It doesn’t matter!” he’d said, and scooped me up into his arms. “We need to go!”

  After “Thank you, Mr. Magnusson, for your immeasurable wit and wisdom. I hope I learn what half of it means someday,” Charlie paused, like he’d lost his train of thought.

  “Finally,” Luke tried to prompt him from afar, “a huge thank-you to my fellow graduates, for letting me spend the last four years with the likes of you…”

  Charlie glanced up and scanned the audience before continuing. “Thank you, to that person”—­he smiled—­“who has been with me since before I can even remember. Your endless support and eye rolls mean more to me than I can say, and I consider myself so lucky to know you.”

  When he moved on to the address’s final remarks, I felt eyes…lots of eyes, but I knew they weren’t focused on me. “Did you hear that?” I asked Luke.

  “Yes.” He nodded, unable to suppress a smile as he folded his arms over his chest. “And it was not in the original version.”

  * * *

  The grove was a CFS afterward (Luke-­speak for “Clusterfuck Situation”). I kept ahold of Luke as I basically elbowed my way through the madness, scouting out the flock. People were laughing and taking pictures, and some called my name, but I only slowed down when I heard Nick’s voice.

  “Morgan!”

  He was by the grove’s ivy-covered brick wall, waving some celebratory cigars and holding the gold Prescott Cup, the award for best senior athlete, like it was the Stanley Cup. And the next thing I knew, I’d dropped Luke’s hand and was flying into Nick’s arms. He laughed and spun me around. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered after, tugging on my ponytail.

  I grinned and reached to straighten his tie. “You’re beautiful too.”

  Jack and Reese found us a few minutes later, and so did the others. The cigars were a Bexley tradition dating back to when the school was all-­guys, but I lit up along with the rest of them. “Oh, Sage.” Reese sighed and shook her head.

  “What?” I said, feeling Nick start playing with my hair again. “I’ve earned this cigar fair and square!” I took another puff and looked at Luke. “Where’s Charming?”

  Because Charlie had yet to make his appearance.

  “Probably big-­shotting,” Luke said, at the same time we heard, “Relax guys, the traffic’s been heavy.”

  Charlie brushed past me and went to slip an arm around Luke’s shoulders. Totally grinning, Luke leaned into him and reached up to entwine their fingers. I laughed and told Nina to snap a picture. The stance, the girls and I called it, since Luke and Charlie stood like this all the time.

  “Here’s proof!” Reese had said the other day, when we were sifting through prom photos. There was one of the boys in their tuxes, out on the balcony: a perfect shot. Twinkly lights were strung around the riverboat’s railing and an American flag waved in the background. Neither of them was looking at the camera; Charlie had an arm hooked around Luke’s neck and was busy whispering in his boyfriend’s ear, while Luke was smiling at the ground. (“What was he saying?” I’d asked later, but Luke just shrugged and said, “That’s classified.”)

  “You went off-­script,” Luke said once Nina had moved on to paparazzi-­ing Reese and Jack, who were recently named Bexley’s cutest couple. Every time I saw Charlie sign an Annual this week, the first thing he did was flip to the superlative spread and scribble out the B on his and Luke’s, so that it now read BEST ROMANCE.

  Charlie laughed. “I thought it was pretty subtle.”

  Luke shook his head. “Not that subtle.”

  And I did a double take when Charlie kissed him. They never kissed in public; it was a lot of walking really close together at first, which morphed into hand-­holding, and now, the stance.

  “Okay, Chluke, break it up,” Paddy said as Nick whistled, coming up to us with his own cigar in hand. Chluke was his nickname for the boys. Luke claimed he hated it, but Charlie’s face rivaled the sun whenever Paddy said it, eyes crinkling so hard.

  “Clarke.” Charlie saluted him, hand then finding Luke’s again.

  Paddy saluted him back. He’d already unknotted his tie, and his black eye was long gone now. Back in February, Charlie hadn’t made an announcement or anything; he just gave Luke his hockey jacket to wear and let people put it together themselves. There was no true shitstorm. No one really said anything, and I wasn’t surprised…because no one went up against Charlie Carmichael. But Paddy had intercepted us in the library that first day, prepping for midterms. Chluke and I were holding down a study room, wh
ile Nick was outside paying for our Chinese takeout. “Well, I guess this makes sense.” Paddy smirked and gestured to Charlie fiddling with Luke’s fingers. “Considering you’ve run out of girls, Carmichael…”

  Then Charlie had stood and literally dragged Paddy out of the room and into the stacks nearby. He came back about a minute later, right hand shaking. “Ice,” he told us. “I’m going to find some ice.”

  They were good from then on, and Paddy had since joked about officiating Luke and Charlie’s wedding someday.

  Reese called for a flock group photo before everyone scattered to locate their parents and migrate over to The Meadow for the graduation luncheon (allegedly when Bexley brought out the good food). “Squad picture,” Nick declared later, after we’d tracked down our own families. Because within the flock, there was now the squad, the four of us. Charlie and Luke and Nick and Sage.

  “I’m going to seriously miss you,” I whispered to Luke once we had our arms around one another. “July’s so far away.”

  “I already have a countdown going,” he whispered back, and I smiled. This summer we were going to spend three weeks on the Vineyard with the Carmichaels. “It’s going to be epic,” Nick kept telling Luke. “You haven’t lived until you’ve gone night kayaking.”

  At the thought, I quickly turned and kissed Nick’s cheek before the flash went off. “Nicky, over here!” Mrs. Carmichael called out after a few clicks. “Look at the camera!”

  Everyone laughed, but my heart rippled.

  Because I could feel him looking at me.

  * * *

  We said goodbye on the MAC’s roof, of all places. “I can’t believe you guys,” Nick said as we took in the view, big and blue and beautiful. “Why didn’t you ever tell us about this place?” He gave Luke a look. “I thought we were bros, Q.”

  I laughed. Nick had been calling Luke Q since we all went home to Darien one April weekend. We’d been in the Carmichaels’ basement watching Skyfall together. “Holy shit.” Nick had paused the movie and pointed the remote at the screen, at Agent 007’s quartermaster. “That’s you, Luke.”